En Passant
by librophile
Summary: John has been injured, and Sherlock is determined. There's a reason doctors are called the worst patients. #2 in my "Meeting Mycroft" series. No slash.


_If this story seems to be at a rather dizzying pace, I apologize. The idea hit me abruptly, and I was writing really fast so I could get it all down before the idea ran away. Or maybe it did anyway..._

_The title is French for 'in passing.'_

* * *

**En Passant**

It wasn't as if it was the first time Sally Donovan had seen someone shot. In her division, it was actually pretty common, though her patrol usually arrived after the shot had been fired.

It wasn't every day that the subject was John Watson, though.

Sherlock Holmes was hovering over his friend, simultaneously glaring and looking somewhat lost as he scolded John, "Why didn't you look where you were going? Never mind that, you're bleeding, that shot made contact, _where is he?_" He whirled around, obviously intent on the harm of whoever had hurt _his_ doctor.

John's hand caught his sleeve. "Sherlock..." He shoved up his sleeve to reveal the wound. "Look, it's just a graze, no harm done."

"We need to get you checked over." Sherlock was clearly not to be dissuaded.

John scowled at him. "Why?"

Sherlock began ticking off facts. "You have a scuff mark on the sole of your left shoe which implies you were dragged for some distance, as well as rumples in the arms of your jacket which imply the same. You went missing in an area not known for polite company and reappeared two streets down in an area not easily reached, besides having to pick a locked door, as evidenced by your fingernails." John frowned, obviously about to ask what _that_ had to do with it, but Sherlock hurried on, "Kohaku caused extreme damage to the subject of his latest crime, implying an inclination toward violence, and the expression on your face just now means you know that first hand."

"I do _not_ need a check-up. I'm just fine, can we go now?" John tried to stand up only to be halted by Sherlock's hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. John glared at him. "Let me up."

"No. Not until you get checked."

John's glare went up a notch. "You have a limp in your left leg, implying you tried to jump off that building I was being held in, probably chasing our acrobatic criminal, but someone grabbed you from behind to pull you back to safety and unfortunately wrenched your shoulder in the process, which was only on top of the two nights you haven't slept since my disappearance." Sherlock stared at him as John added testily, "I'm a doctor, I know when someone has been mistreating themselves."

Donovan gawked at them from the sidelines, unnoticed. It had actually been Lestrade who had rescued Sherlock, since he was the only one in the Force who know him well enough to stay somewhat behind him, but seeing John go off this way was... disturbing, to say the least.

John continued, "If anyone should be seeing medical help, you should."

"No. But you are."

"I am perfectly fine."

"Which means whatever is – _might_," he corrected himself hastily at John's sharp glance, "be wrong with me can be fixed by you back at Baker Street after you've been checked."

Flatly: "No."

Donovan felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped slightly, then turned around to see an intensely focused-looking man, dressed in a suit and calmly swinging a black umbrella. He looked slightly bemused. "I believe you have someone I wish to speak with."

Donovan stared at him blankly. "Um, who?"

The stranger pointed his umbrella toward the arguing pair.

Donovan was too confused to do anything as the man ducked under the Crime Scene tape (revealing a sleek, black, unmarked car behind him) and headed toward Sherlock and John. He stood beside them for a moment watching them argue and then apparently decided it was time to announce his presence. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything?" he inquired calmly.

They both whipped about. "Mycroft!" Sherlock greeted him, looking bizarrely relieved. "Tell John he needs to get medical help before he can leave the scene."

Both Donovan and 'Mycroft' blinked at that. John growled, "Nothing doing. And if anyone is getting medical attention it will be him."

"Won't. And you're going."

Mycroft interrupted smoothly, "I could have you both looked over by my own medical staff."

"Go away, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped. "John, you're hurt and you need to be checked over."

"That's all conjecture and you've confirmed that you are injured, so you need it more than I do."

The stranger commented to John, "If you'll allow a brief examination I'll see to it that Sherlock gets one as well."

"Deal."

"No I'm... What!" Sherlock had apparently just realized what John had said. "John, how could you?"

"My car awaits." Mycroft gestured toward his vehicle, a faint smile on his face. John started toward it and Sherlock followed, still grumbling, as Mycroft nodded briefly toward Sally. "Good day, Sergeant Donovan." She felt her mouth drop open. He turned on his heel and followed the consulting detective and his friend.

"What!" Sally jumped again and turned to see Lestrade standing there, frowning. "What is _he_ doing here?" Donovan followed his gaze to see the black car pull into traffic. At her confused expression, Lestrade huffed out a frustrated breath and clarified,"Who did he take off with this time?"

Donovan blinked. "Sir, I don't know what you're..."

"Who went with him?"

Sally somehow suspected calling names wouldn't be acceptable at the moment. "Sherlock and the Doctor, sir."

Lestrade sighed wearily. "Keep an eye out, see if either of them appears within the next forty-eight hours. If they don't we may have a kidnapping on our han – "

Suddenly both their phones simultaneously rang with a text alert, and Lestrade and Donovan reached for them.

"Who _was_ that?" Donovan asked in disbelief, glancing at Lestrade's after reading her own text. His read the exact same thing.

The DI rolled his eyes. "I don't know and, frankly, I don't care. All I know is that he once expressed an interest in Sherlock and constantly shows up at crime scenes." He pocketed his phone and glanced down the alley. "I think Anderson has something for me. Excuse me."

Sally stared disbelievingly after the retreating form of her boss, then back at her phone.

The text read, "_And no, this is not a kidnapping._"


End file.
